


Fall and I'll catch you

by teracity



Category: Marvel (Movies), Questionable Content, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cancer, Domestic, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Snark, Terminal Illnesses, Wordcount: 5.000-15.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:51:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teracity/pseuds/teracity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on palalife's <a href="http://palalife.tumblr.com/post/27591546984/x-men-reverse-bang-prompt-1023-after-finding"> lovely RBB art </a> </p><p>In which Erik's doctor tells him he has at most a month to live and he decides to ask the attractive stranger he has been noticing for the past three years at the bus stop out. </p><p>What's the worst that can happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [palalife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palalife/gifts).



> This was an accident - I saw the art on tumblr, found out the writer went MIA and decided to write something because it was good art and good art deserves fic. Hope I did it some semblance of justice! 
> 
> It wasn't meant to become this massive 13K+ word fic, but we don't always get what we want. 
> 
> A few characters and Coffee of Doom appear in this fic, but the main focus is on Erik and Charles. 
> 
> Many thanks to [kattahj](http://kattahj.livejournal.com/) for being my beta, and patiently pointing out all my careless mistakes!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the stage is set.

“I’m sorry.” 

Erik froze in the chair, looking at the x-rays with disbelief. The black patches mocked him, as if Death had gripped him tight, leaving marks on his insides. 

Fuck, all those annual general checkups and for what? 

The doctor was looking at him with pity in his eyes, and that was what snapped him back to the present moment. 

“How long do I have?” Good, he thought distantly. His voice still sounded strong.

The doctor sighed and placed his glasses down on the table. “At this stage, a month, at most.”

It is said that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. That is true, it’s called Life.

After the doctor had quietly sent him away with nothing more than a prescription for painkillers, and discreet brochures for psychologists (these he threw into the first bin he saw), Erik let his feet take him around as he thought. Thought of how he was going to go about informing the engineering firm he worked at about his immediate resignation, of talking to his insurance agent regarding cashing out his policy, of informing the few friends he had made since his transfer to America three years back, of him.

He was a commuter at the same bus stop where Erik waited for his bus to take him to work, but not just another commuter. For one, while most people were either plugged into a device of sorts, tittering with their friends, or staring blankly off into space, he was always buried in some book. The fact that he was very pleasant on the eyes helped too.

Chestnut brown hair framed a smooth boyish face, and bright blue eyes actively tracked the pages of whatever book he happened to be holding in hands that looked soft, as if they had never done anything more laborious than play a piano. The man was always dressed beyond his years – a slightly lumpy woollen jumper pulled over a collared-tee, and gray slacks that had seen too many washes. Erik had noted the brown briefcase that always sat quietly by the man’s feet, and coupled with the books, thought him to belong to a university. (He turned out to be right in the end.)

Erik had heard that it was common (and acceptable) in America to ask a stranger who had caught your eye out for a drink, but his European upbringing resisted that. While it meant people were usually charmed by his 'gentlemanly sentiments' upon introduction, it also meant he found himself unable to do anything to watch the man every day as they waited at the same bus stop to be whisked off to different lives. (Sometimes he wished his firm were located along the same bus route the other man took – it would mean their lives could intersect for just a bit longer.) 

He wondered whether the man lived nearby, if he had a girlfriend (or a boyfriend, his mind wistfully added, given the lack of a wedding band), if he liked long walks in the park, if his hands were really as soft as they looked… then reality would screech to a halt in front of his face and he remembered as he boarded his bus that he didn’t ‘even know the man’s name and probably never will. Not at the rate he was going.

Given his path of thought, he was unsurprised to find himself at the bus stop, with its familiar and slightly weathered brown bench. It was bereft of its usual occupant, but then again, it was a time of day that usually found Erik hunched over yet another project in his office. Standing there, he could picture the other man sitting quietly and reading (always reading) on the bench, a man whose name he didn’t even know. Who would be there as usual for the next month, and the month after, and the next.

Right, he decided grimly there and then. It was time for things to change. 

=

Charles smiled softly as he set his bag and himself down on the bench. It was a routine familiar to him, but still one he delighted in. While the city was usually bustling with noise, people, and life, there was a brief lull in the early morning when a quiet calm would reign, washing over him like the first gentle rays of the sun. The bus stop was relatively empty, and waiting for the bus gave him a good chance to catch up on his non-work related reading. Being a recently tenured professor at the local university had left him with scarce time to read anything other than assignments and colleagues’ papers, so he had come to treasure the little gaps in his packed schedule. 

Further, the man was always there. Charles appreciated beauty in all its forms, and the other regular commuter was no exception. Blue (later he found out they were specked with green) eyes set in a face that seemed to have been shaped by Michelangelo himself, plain but snug polo-tees or turtle-necked shirts that not so much hinted at as screamed fit and trim body, and black trousers that emphasized the length of his legs. The man looked perpetually thoughtful, a slight crease in the middle of his forehead. More than once Charles had noticed his strong (he turned out to be right on that count) fingers tapping as if in calculation against his thumb. He wondered what the man was thinking of, who he was, and about the sorrow that lurked behind his eyes. Mostly, he wondered about a world in which the only time he was allowed near living perfection was during his morning reading time. He had yet to decide whether it was a good thing.

If anything, the man was reliable – even more reliable than his bus which sometimes failed to arrive because of a breakdown or some union strike. At 7.30am, with a standard deviation of 5 minutes, the man would be there, waiting. (Not that Charles was keeping count or anything. Really. He couldn’t help that the other guy was like clockwork!)

Hence, the surprise that at 7.45am, he had failed to turn up, making it two days in a row that Charles was alone (figuratively speaking. The other commuters didn’t count, not to him) at the bus stop.

I wonder if he’s alright, thought Charles worriedly, before remembering that he didn’t even know the man’s name. Still… glancing at this watch, and at the spot the man always stood at (occasionally someone else would be there first, but the man would somehow manage to get the spot at the end), he sighed and turned back to his latest read.

“There is, after all, a kind of happiness in unhappiness, if it’s the right unhappiness,” read Charles, rolling the words around in his mouth. A slight breeze ran along his bare neck, a reminder that autumn was just around the corner. He shivered, and brushed off a red petal that had been blown across the page.

Wait. A red petal…?

“Uh. Excuse me.” A deep voice to his left startled him out of his book, and he turned to find himself with a faceful of red… roses. (He later found out that the reason why Erik was later than usual was because he had stopped off at a florist beforehand.)

“I’m going to die soon. I… I really like you. Can I date you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Quote from Terry Prachett: It is said that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. That is true, it’s called Life.
> 
> 2\. Quote from Freedom by Jonathan Franzen: There is, after all, a kind of happiness in unhappiness, if it’s the right unhappiness.
> 
> 3\. Yes, I collect quotes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets a name and number, and Moira worries about Charles.

Erik stood behind the thrust out bouquet of red roses, body still in a way his emotions were not. He had been briefly flummoxed by the sheer amount of variety at the florist, annoyed at the cooing of the shop assistant who had called him “sweet and thoughtful”, worried that he might miss the man at the bus stop, nervous at what he saw as an audacious move, and above all, excited that he would (at the very least) find out what his name was. And now, he was mortified.

Along the way, he had rehearsed his little speech (not that he thought anything he said could make what he was doing any less creepy and stalkerish) and ran his thumb over and over the worn surface of his lucky coin. With any luck… the man was there, absorbed in a book as usual. Taking in a deep (mental) breath, Erik had strode up to his side and was just about to open his mouth to deliver his speech when the man had shivered and a slight flush had spread along that pale lovely neck.  
He snapped out of his gaping when those hands brushed away a loose petal, but his carefully prepared speech was gone with the wind. Erik had never been good with words, preferring the simplicity of numbers and equations, and thus had blurted out the first thing he could think of. 

Right, Erik clenched his jaw. Tell him you’re dying and you like him and ask if you could date him. At least you excused yourself first.

“Ahh… erm thank you. They’re lovely but who are you?” A pleasant voice with a rich timbre drew him out of the loop of despair/admonishment/desperation, and he suddenly realized that the size of the bouquet coupled with their respective height difference would mean he was effectively obscured from sight. For a split second, he considered retreating, but he was already this far gone. One month, his mind kept repeating. One month.

Lowering the (rather ridiculously oversized, he had thought) bouquet, Erik looked into those (ridiculously beautiful, his mind whispered) blue eyes that studied him thoughtfully the way it had done with numerous books over the years. The damnably plush red lips that had been so distracting (Erik easily remembered the number of times he had stared entranced as the man worried at his lower lip whilst reading – he later discovered it was Charles’ face of concentration) were parted slightly in surprise, and quirked up slightly at the ends in a not-quite smile.

The slight tilting of the man’s head and the downturn of those lips reminded him that he had been asked a question, and an answer was awaited. Clearing his throat and mind, he replied, “Erik. I’m Erik Lehnsherr.”

The man had blinked at him once more, before standing up smoothly, offering his hand and a smile. “Hello, Erik. I’m Charles Xavier.” 

Erik was so surprised he almost dropped the flowers. For a while there, he was certain that the man – no, Charles – would dismiss him as insane or worse, but here he was, smiling and shaking his hand casually as if perfect strangers walked up to him with enormous bouquets of flowers on a regular basis. Given his looks, Erik wouldn’t be surprised if it was true.

Charles’ hands were as soft as he imagined, though the grip was firm and sure. The smile that was directed at him took his breath away for a while, and Erik thought he finally understood the phrase ‘drowning in another’s eyes’.

That was when the universe decided to remind him of how much it hated him. 

=

The man - no, Erik – was looking at him with no small amount of abashment and surprise, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Charles was pleased to find out that the grip was as strong as he suspected, and was momentarily intrigued by those eyes that turned out to be a mix of blue and green. 

He was about to say more when a familiar rumbling came from behind, and he knew even before he took a look over his shoulder that his bus had arrived. Charles groaned inwardly and groused about Murphy’s Law. Turning back to Erik, who seemed to have deduced that that was his bus if the slightly downcast look in his eyes were any indication, Charles quickly pulled out a pen and scribbled his number down on Erik’s palm.

“Right, I’m sorry but that’s my bus and, well.” He paused. What do you say to an attractive stranger you sometimes daydream about who walks up to you and asks you out? “Call me? I’m free this afternoon.”

Flinging an arm out hurriedly, Charles grabbed his bag and turned back to Erik. A brief moment of hesitation, and he took the flowers in his other hand. They really were lovely, and there would be questions later, but he needed a reminder that what happened wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. 

“Bye then!” As the bus moved on, Charles noted with mild disbelief that Erik had turned to watch him go. ‘Just like in the movies’ he thought giddily. 

He then groaned as he remembered what Erik had said _first_. Just like in the movies, all right. Moira was going to yell at him for this. 

=

“Christ, Charles.” The younger professor fiddled with his salad to avoid eye contact with his colleague and friend. When Moira MacTaggert really got into one of her rants… well, he could understand why her students were on the whole much more well behaved. “I know you’re not particularly intelligent on the best of days – “ 

His desultory noise of protest was impatiently waved away. 

“This is ridiculous! No, it’s insane. I know you’ve been moaning about him to me for years, and it seems like a dream for him to ask you out, but this man is dying. Very quickly.”

Resigning himself to her disapproval, Charles sighed as he stabbed his fork gloomily into the pile of leaves. He looked up and met her stony glare with a wry smile. 

“Well, it’s not like I gave him unfettered access to my body.” Her derisive snort reminded him too acutely of the numerous one-night stands he had before, and he cringed slightly. “I’m just meeting him for coffee, and besides, he seems nice. Would be cruel to turn down a man who bought me such a beautiful bouquet of flowers.” 

“And who would be dead soon,” huffed Moira. “It’s no dream Charles, it’s a nightmare.” 

The ensuing silence hung heavy between them and settled on the well-aged couches in the teachers’ lounge. Both friends sat across each other, waiting for the other to give in. Sometimes it was Charles, but mostly it was Moira, who understood her friend and his stubbornness all too well.

“Look, I just… worry about you, alright?”

Charles laughed a little at that, with a slight touch of bitterness. Throughout his privileged childhood, no one had really even noticed, not to mention, worried about him. It figured that now that he was 28, a brilliant professor of genetics who was one of the youngest to receive tenure, he was frequently worried (and harried) about. 

Much like how the handsome stranger he had been wistfully looking at for years asked him out because he was going to die soon.

“I know that, my friend,” said Charles, smiling warmly now. “I promise you I’ll take care of myself.”

Moira looked at him shrewdly, her lips quirking up into a mischievous grin. 

“That means condoms this time, yes?” 

Charles’s shriek of outrage rang in the lounge alongside Moira’s laughter as he tackled her across the table. Had any student walked in then, they would have been astounded by the sight of two widely respected professors mock wrestling and giggling together on the aged leather couch. 

=

Erik ran his finger carefully over the number scrawled on his palm, not quite believing that he had not only found out the man’s name (Charles Xavier. Charles), but had his number as well. Naturally, he saved the number into his phone soon after the bus pulled away, but he tried to preserve the ink as much as possible for the rest of the day. 

The rest of the day could not pass more quickly: his resignation was accepted with hardly any comment, although Emma did corner him into her office and an appointment for tea the following week. Azazel told him it was about time and promised to join his firm when he had it set up. He didn’t quite have the heart to correct his Russian friend so he promised to consider it seriously. 

Dropping by his solicitor took more time – he had no immediate family of concern and wanted to leave whatever assets he had to fund cancer research – and it was well past two before Erik was free to finally call Charles. He hesitated before pressing the call button, still not quite believing what had happened in the morning.

The phone rang once, twice. Erik jaw’s twitched and he resisted the urge to pace. Perhaps Charles was busy and he should just drop a message, or just forget the whole thing altogether – 

“Xavier. Who’s this?” 

His heart suddenly clenched and all words took a turn to nowhere. 

“Hello?” Not a dream.

“Charles, this is Erik from this morning. I’m calling about your afternoon?” 

“Oh!” the voice over the phone sounded pleased, and Erik had a sudden mental image of those lips quirking in a smile. He had put it there, he thought in wonder. “Yes, my classes end in about two hours. Do you know the café located at the corner of the university? I would be happy to meet you there.” 

“That’s fine with me,” said Erik with a casualness he did not feel. “I’ll see you soon then.” 

“I look forward to it.” There was definitely a smile in that. 

Right after the call ended, the clinic called.

It was ignored.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea, Coffee, and Faye with a broom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favourite smart-talking barista from QC makes an appearance!

Erik didn’t bother with where his caffeine came from, as long as he had it in his bloodstream. However, seating himself in a corner of the café, he thought it would be the kind of place he would patronize if he were the sort to do such a thing. For one, there was none of those fancy-ice blends that were mostly sugar and cream with a hint of coffee. The décor was simple and warm, and there was an air of quiet dignity around the place. The fact that it was called “Coffee of Doom” helped too, just a bit. 

Students and faculty members alike traipsed in and out for their daily dose, which was the best coffee Erik had tasted since landing on this side of the Atlantic, served with a side of snark from the baristas, and he idly wondered which side Charles belonged to. He had been right about the university, but could not tell whether he taught or was one of the taught. 

Right on cue, Charles barged through the doors then, earning a yell of protest from the short, buxom barista. 

“Sorry Faye!” 

“You’re lucky you’re adorable, Professor,” muttered the barista darkly, even as her lips twitched in an almost-smile. “The usual?” 

Charles’s smile at that made Erik thankful for having finished his mouthful of coffee. He suspected he might have choked otherwise. 

“Meeting someone, actually.” The young professor glanced around and suddenly that smile was directed at him. It might be the first grips of his illness but he suddenly found himself short of breath. 

It would be ridiculous if not for the fact that Charles was now clutching a suspiciously large mug of coloured liquid (Tea, he soon found out. It made a lot of sense that in place selling some of the best coffee he had ever tasted, Charles would be drinking _tea_ ) and seating himself opposite Erik. 

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” 

For him, Erik thought even eternity would not be too long. 

“There was a student who had rather more questions than my office hours allowed for.” 

“What do you teach?” he asked, mildly impressed at the relative youth of the other man.

“Faculty of medicine, specializing in gene therapy, and I research about as much as I teach. To be specific, I supervise the doctoral students, although the dean has occasionally assigned me a freshman class. That leaves me less time for research but I do so enjoy the enthusiasm of the young and - ” Charles stopped right then and looked vaguely embarrassed. “I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” 

“No, it’s interesting, actually,” assured Erik. He was honestly intrigued – ever since his mother’s diagnosis of and death from cancer five years ago, he had kept up with developments in the medical field. “Does it have anything to do with stem cells?”

Charles had brightened up at that, and hours passed quickly with the former’s enthusiasm and the latter’s interest. 

“All right you two lovebirds.” Faye’s voice cut through their conversation, and they were suddenly aware of the fact they were in a now very empty café with a stocky barista who was waving a broom in a vaguely threatening manner. “Sorry to interrupt your mating ritual but some of us would actually like to go home.” 

Hastily gathering his notes, Charles slipped on his scarf and apologized for taking up so much of Erik’s time. 

“I should be thanking you,” interrupted Erik with mildly fond exasperation. “It was really enjoyable.” 

“I…” Charles shuffled his feet and looked uncertain. 

“OUT, YOU TWO.” 

In the rush to escape before Faye could use her broom in a distinctively threatening way, Erik grabbed Charles’s hand and tugged him out of the door. Standing outside in the fluorescent pool of light from a street lamp, he suddenly realized that he was still holding Charles's hand and was about to pull away when Charles had suddenly tiptoed and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his mouth. 

“I really enjoyed myself too. Thank you. See you around soon.” 

Not a question, Erik thought dazedly as Charles tucked his scarf in properly and headed back to the university with a last lingering look. 

He checked his phone – two more missed calls from the clinic. 

=

Being given a huge bouquet of red roses first thing in the morning had raised Charles’s expectations of Erik. What he didn’t expect was for him to not only meet those standards, but to also surpass them with ease and charm. If Charles hadn’t already been won over by the flowers, their conversation over drinks sealed his fate. He had had his fair share of relationships, but Erik was the first one to actually listen to him and show interest in both his mind and body. Given his (relatively) long celibacy and the man’s attractiveness, Charles was rather proud of the fact that he had only kissed him, and chastely at that. Pulling out his phone, he saved Erik’s number into his phonebook with a little heart next to it. 

“Oh my gosh,” groaned Moira, the moment Charles entered the teacher’s lounge. “You’ve gone and fallen for him already, haven’t you?”

“We had coffee and a wonderful conversation, and I kissed him goodnight.” Charles flushed at the memory of smooth skin under his lips, and thought their next meeting could not happen soon enough. 

“You only kissed him?” Moira gaped for a while before shaking her head. “That answers my question well enough.” 

It was true that Charles used to have a bit of a reputation. Objectively speaking, he did not think there was anything wrong with casual sex. The body had needs and those needs were to be fulfilled.

It was also true that Charles would like an actual meaningful relationship with someone who appreciated more than just his body.

Erik Lehnsherr was a real chance at this. He understood Moira’s concern well enough: they had at best a month together. But he was already caught by the sweet promise of the other, a sweetness that he knew was poison but which he could not resist savouring while it lasted.

"Charles, it's not going to be easy, you know."

"Nothing worth having ever is," he replied, with only a touch of irony.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domesticity, things heat up (in more ways than one), and Hannelore makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta, [kattahj](http://kattahj.livejournal.com/)

The two settled into a routine after that first meeting, with Erik waiting at the café for Charles to end work on the days he went to the university. Less than a week ago, he would have cringed at the thought of having so much free time, but now he found himself enjoying it. All the books he had on his ‘to read’ list were being tackled over expertly brewed mugs of coffee. For the first time since stepping off the plane three years ago, he noticed the city and its inhabitants around him. 

Most of all, he had Charles, who spent a rather astonishing amount of time with him.

It turned out that the academic year was entering one of its slower periods and Charles had already completed much of the work he was expected to produce. (“I’m used to spending almost all my free time at the university because I had nothing else on,” the professor had explained when Erik voiced concerns of interference with his work. “Well, except when Wes drops by for one of his rare visits in which case the wise thing to do would be to say yes.”)

After that first kiss, Charles hadn’t taken things any further. It did mean there were instances when Erik had to excuse himself to the toilet after a long conversation or a game of chess (a mutual interest they discovered early on), but on the whole it didn’t bother him as he thought it might.

Just sitting next to Charles with their thighs lightly touching, watching the blue eyes that shone with affection and feeling the hands that lightly and casually brushed against him, Erik felt it was just as – if not more – intimate than sex. It was certainly the closest he had felt to anyone since his mother had passed on. 

They settled into a routine of long walks in the park, languid afternoons reading together on the couch, nightly games of chess accompanied by scotch. It was oddly domestic and normal and he couldn’t (wouldn’t) have asked for more.

Though it would be nice if his clinic stopped trying to contact him.

=

Charles was equal parts pleased and dismayed to find that Erik was what he had hoped for and more. Exercising a self-control that many thought he lacked, he went no further than chaste kisses. To his horror, Erik, being the perfect self-denying European gentleman he was, made no further moves beyond that either. 

He knew it wasn’t because he wasn’t interested – the physical signs were obvious enough, not to mention the toilet ‘breaks’ – but as much as he enjoyed being with another person he was attracted to in a non-sexual sense, his body decidedly disagreed. He lasted for a week. 

Hence: the current scene.

They were in a middle of a rather impassioned discussion of a quote (“If love is a trick played on us by the forces of evolution, how do you explain homosexuality then? Are you suggesting it is not love at all?”) from their favourite novel. Erik’s eyes were burning with an intensity that stoked a fire low in his belly. 

“Oh for goodness sake – “ muttered Charles, before he leaned forward and swallowed any protest with his mouth. 

For a single terrifying moment, Erik froze, then he was – sweet joy, his heart and body sang – responding, lips parting and tongue meeting his own. Finally, his libido thought viciously, and he was vaguely aware of being pulled onto a warm lap. Squirming into a more comfortable position and eliciting a few moans in the process, Charles decided he had been a good boy for long enough. 

It was time he got his reward.

=

Erik curled his fingers tight into Charles’s hips as he shifted distractingly on his lap. The grip was probably hard enough to bruise (it was, but Charles had smiled and danced his fingers across the marks which did not help at all.) but he didn’t think about that. 

Not when there was so much else on his mind. 

There was the clever tongue delving in his mouth, the hands burning hot against his skin, and the lean legs that had wrapped around his waist. His jeans were far too tight and the room had reached the point of uncomfortable heat. Charles shifted to nipping at his ear, then tonguing along it, teasing out whimpers. Burying his nose into brown curls, Erik fought the urge to buck up in search of liberating friction. Not that he had a choice: Charles made it for them by grinding down decisively.

Feeling rather like someone swept up by a ferocious wave who could only ride it out and hope to be alive by the end of it, Erik stopped holding back and responded in kind by slipping his hands under the oxford shirt and rubbing slow circles on Charles’s lower back, not quite dipping below the trousers hem. The hips warring against his stuttered and pupils ringed with electric blue pinned him down. 

“Bed.” The normally smooth voice was rough and low, shooting right to his groin. “Now.” 

Erik decided that bossy and demanding was a rather good look on Charles, especially with his face flushed and wanton like that. 

Erik also decided that the bed was too far. 

Turning around and pinning the slighter man against the couch, he kneaded the pert butt and grinned at the resulting whine. 

“I agree,” he replied and reached down to unzip trousers. “With the second bit.” 

In all honesty, he would have agreed to almost anything to have that moment: Charles under him with his hair unruly and wild, eyes burning and dilated, lips swollen and slightly parted, rumpled clothes exposing flushed bare skin. 

The normally verbose professor had merely nodded fervently, breath catching in his throat as Erik slowly pulled him off. He relished every sound that he wrung out and, while his own erection throbbed painfully in their denim trappings, drank in the sight of Charles climaxing.

“Erik – “ His name was whispered with a reverence he had only ever associated with prayer, and more damningly, love. They had known each other for barely a week. Was it possible? 

=

"So, you're the guy at the bus stop," said Emma in lieu of a greeting. Erik glared at her from across the table, but her focus was on Charles. "We've heard about you."

"Oh, that's nice." Charles smiled and snuck an arm around his waist. "Good things, I hope."

"I have not heard Erik speak so much of another person before," stated Azazel, nodding sombrely. 

Erik took a long sip of his coffee, ignoring the delighted smile Charles was directing at him in favour of promising painful deaths to his two former colleagues over his mug. Unfortunately, Emma had remembered his promise to meet up for coffee and cleared a slot in her busy schedule. Azazel - well, no one told the quiet Russian what to do. Ever. 

"What have you been doing these days, Erik?" asked Emma, stirring her latte elegantly, spoon just clear of the rim. "Other than Charles, that is."

He set his mug down with more force than necessary and replied through gritted teeth. "How's Scott, Frost?" 

She sipped her drink and narrowed icy blue eyes at him. Charles looked between them both with amusement before turning to Azazel, who seemed unbothered by the exchange. 

"What exactly do you two work as? Erik's mentioned something about space engineering... I imagine it is still quite a narrow field."

"Yes, we work with NASA to develop technology for space exploration. Erik and I were senior engineers, and-" He gestured to Emma who was now smiling sweetly at Erik. "Emma is head of our HR department." 

"Shaw Engineering is like Stark Industries for space. You're right that it's an extremely small field, which is what Erik is out to correct," she added. "When are you going to poach us over to your new firm?" 

Erik's grip tightened and he clenched his jaw. He could see Charles's confusion and put a hand on his knee, squeezing lightly and silently hoping that he would not probe further. That questioning gaze turned to him, and he cringed slightly at the accusation that was bleeding in. Charles shifted his knee from under his hand and turned back to the conversation. 

"Fascinating. There's someone here whom you should meet," said Charles, standing up. "Hanners?"

"Who called?" A thin lady emerged from under the counter, multiple piercings glinting in the light. "Oh, hi Charles!" 

Briefly, Erik marvelled at the effect Charles had on people. From what he had seen and heard so far, Hannelore was an extremely shy and withdrawn girl, and the few times he tried to strike up a conversation had her answering in stutters. In contrast, she always had a smile for the young academic, and he sometimes found them deeply engaged in a science discussion.

"Her father works in the space station, Dr John Ellicott-Chatham? You might have heard of him. Hannelore, this is Emma and Azazel. They work at Shaw Engineering and I'm sure you'll have plenty to talk about." He levelled a pointed look at Erik. "I have something private to discuss with my boyfriend." 

Patting the junior barista's elbow companionably as he breezed by, Charles headed out to the back without a backward glance. Erik sighed and followed, the warmth already fading from his side. They had been getting along well, and he was surprised that this was only happening now. 

Nothing good ever lasts in my life, he thought, and braced himself for the worst.

=

Charles leaned against the crumbling brick wall and blinked furiously in a bid to stop his tears from falling. While various people, past lovers included, had lied to him before, Erik was the first person who made him feel truly disappointed. Anger and embarrassment were what he was used to, not this expanding hollowness in his chest that threatened to consume him. He bit his lower lip and clenched his fists, fingers digging into his palm. 

"Charles..."

He closed his eyes, not trusting himself to speak. For once, he realized with despair, there was someone he wanted more than the other wanted him. A hand brushed his face, so tender that he gasped. 

"Why...?" he whispered. 

A pause; he was pulled tightly into a warm embrace. The feel of strong arms around him and familiar smell of aftershave broke his resolve. Erik held him, hands moving down his back in long soothing strokes as he shook and cried onto soft wool. When the tears stopped, Charles found himself grateful for the support. Crying was a surprisingly tiring business. Hiccuping, he rested his cheek against the Erik’s chest and burrowed deeper into his arms. 

“They don’t know about my condition,” murmured Erik, breath hot against his ear. “When I resigned, they assumed I left to set up my own firm.” 

Relief. Surprise. Love. Each emotion flooded him, and he felt so lightheaded that he was surprised he was still able to stand.

“You didn’t tell them?” He brought his hand up, palm flat against Erik’s jumper, letting the steady beat of his heart lull him. 

“They don’t need to know,” was the stiff reply.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Charles counted between the beats.

“Erik, they’re your friends.” 

“I worked with them for three years -” 

Huffing in exasperation, he manoeuvred Erik around to back against the wall. “They care about you,” he said, waving at the disbelieving snort. “Look, you know how busy they are, and the way you and Emma go at each other is exactly like me and Moira. Perhaps more terrifying. Point being, you are more than a colleague to them.” 

The determined set of Erik’s jaw would be discouraging if not for the fingers tapping thoughtfully against his back. Losing himself in the other, he felt a sudden gratitude for the cancer ravaging his boyfriend’s body. If not for that, they might never have discovered their mutual attraction. At the same time, guilt gnawed at him and he sighed. He was happy, yes, but at what (whose) cost? 

“I’ll think about it,” was Erik’s eventual reply, but that in itself was a victory. 

Wrapping his arms around the trim waist, Charles kissed away the frown and pressed Erik against the wall. “I could persuade you.” 

“Do try.” The voice was dry but the body was treacherous. In the relative darkness, Charles heard the hitching of breath and felt the quickening heartbeat through the layers between them. He dropped his hand, grinning at the hardening bulge. 

“Challenge accepted,” he whispered.

=

Erik was equal parts relieved and confused to discover that it was all a misunderstanding and that Charles was upset over his withholding of information from his ex-colleagues. He recalled the years they spent together - pulling all-nighters with Azazel over various projects, Emma dragging him to a bespoke tailor, and the stories shared over mugs of coffee in one of the many office pantries. When they asked about his family, he had given a terse reply that was the end of the matter. Neither had pushed for more information or offered empty sympathy. Charles might have a valid point, he thought. Not that he would openly admit that, especially with Charles offering to persuade him in that sultry tone of voice. 

It was dark in the alley but they were one door away from the rest of the cafe. The thought of Azazel or, lord forbid, Emma walking in on them mortified him, and he voiced his concern.

“Charles, we’re just outside the Coffee of Doom.” 

"You'll have to be quiet then, can you do that, love?"

Erik swore silently and held back a hiss as the cool autumn air hit his straining erection. Charles pinned his hips firmly as he bucked forward at the gust of warm breath. Reaching down, he tugged at unruly chestnut locks. Blue eyes flashed up at him for a moment, gleaming with amusement. A low chuckle and he was about to open his mouth to beg when Charles beat him to it, darting out a tongue and licking round the head. 

He moaned, head thudding hard against the wall. 

"Now Erik, what did we say about being quiet, hmm?" murmured Charles, breath ghosting along his shaft. 

Despite the innocent appearance of a college professor, Charles was in truth a shameless minx. He was now lightly kissing sensitized skin and looking at him guilelessly. Erik nodded and loosened his grip, stroking silky strands. 

"That's my good boy," purred Charles. Placing one last kiss on the base, he took in half of Erik's dick so suddenly that he could taste the sour tang of blood in his mouth from where he had bitten in an effort to stay silent. Warm, wet heat engulfed him, and Erik fought the urge to chase that sensation. Charles tongued the dripping slit, and shifted a hand to grip the base, jerking him off languorously as he alternated between sucking and licking. Erik closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, losing himself in the feel of soft hair under his hands and the skillful mouth working on him. Charles pulled back, lips barely touching. The grip around the base tightened and the contrast of cold air made his cock twitch. 

"Erik, look at me." 

His eyes flew open immediately, and he got even harder at the low tone and fluttering lips. Beautiful, he thought, my angel of depravity. 

Charles: full lips obscenely swollen and red, glistening with precum and saliva. Eyes bright and wide, pupils dilated. Pale round cheeks flushed. Hair tousled by both hands and effort. 

Charles, Charles, Charles, ran the litany in his mind. Emma, Azazel, and every person in the cafe could have been there for all he cared - his world had expanded and narrowed to contain only the man kneeling before him. 

Wonder welled up inside him. _I love you_ , he thought desperately, _so much that it scares me_. 

As if he had picked up that thought, Charles dipped his head and he stopped thinking then because soft lips were carefully sucking his balls and that hand had resumed stroking at a pace that left him panting for release. Stop, he wanted to say. More, his body demanded. Once more with eerie foresight, Charles left off playing with his tightened scrotum and was now taking on as much of his length as was physiologically possible. He didn't think it could get any better but each forward slide proved him wrong. 

His head throbbed. It was all heat and wet friction and Charles drawing back up with a sudden move that tipped him over the edge. His hips snapped forward and he uttered a strangled cry, spilling into the eager mouth. Charles took it all, hand pumping until he was wrung out and standing by sheer force of will. 

All the world rushed back to him a few moment after. Cold autumn air, cock twitching slightly post-orgasm, and Charles still kneeling, looking at him with a smile playing on his lips. Erik pulled him up and kissed him deep. Charles let out a soft huff of surprise before returning the ardour with full force.

Don't leave me, the kiss said, followed by I don't want to leave you. 

"Pleasant as this is, I think we have been gone long enough," said Charles breathlessly, pulling away. He hardly cared about the others, Erik muttered; they could stay here, entwined around each other for the rest of his life. 

"Always, my friend," was the soft reply. "You know I'll be here till the end."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Moira and Erik actually get along, and there's sex. (seriously though, it's about half this chapter, so it's a pretty accurate summary)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta [kattahj](http://kattahj.livejournal.com/), and to the xmentales chat, especially [professor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/professor/pseuds/professor), [Miya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pallorsomnium/pseuds/pallorsomnium), and [afrocurl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl) for the help through my first penetrative sex scene.

If nothing else, it was gratifying to see Emma's meticulously schooled face crack when he told them of his impending demise. Her porcelain complexion blanched and she set her cup down in the precise centre of its saucer. 

Azazel was more direct, looking him straight in the eye as he told him how much he enjoyed working with Erik, who was the least dumb out of the lot of idiots Shaw employed. 

The rest of the afternoon passed without fanfare, though Emma was distinctly subdued. Pausing at the door as they departed, she hugged him. It was so unexpected that Erik froze for a few seconds. Charles, who responded more warmly, was next. Emma Frost, widely known as the White Queen, whose demeanor was as her name suggested, hugging someone. He felt his surprise was understandable. 

"Thank you," she told Charles. "I've not seen Erik this happy since we first met."

Longer, he thought. Since the onset of his mom's cancer eight years ago, he had forgotten what happiness felt like. Charles clasped their hands together and smiled. Erik wouldn't have traded the few weeks he had with him for all the ages in the world alone. 

=

Moira sipped her tea and was surprised to discover it was exactly how she and Charles liked theirs. 

"One sugar, and a splash of milk?" she asked, raising the mug slightly.

Erik looked up. "Yes, I made it -"

"Just the way Charles takes his tea." She finished his sentence. "I prefer coffee actually, but he insists that tea is better." 

There was a trace of a smile at that, and he leaned against the counter. It was odd, but Erik had been tense since she showed up at his flat (entirely Charles's idea) for tea with the couple. 

Couple - miracles do happen. While most people assumed that Charles led a blessed uneventful life, she knew otherwise. Between finding out he had a long lost twin brother, his adopted sister going incognito, and having been abused as a child, it was astounding how he ended up as cheerful and normal as he seemed. Moira, having been his longest surviving friend and witnessing firsthand his many relationships, was both pleased with and suspicious of Erik. 

For one, he was the first lover Charles had insisted on her meeting. While she had heard Charles gush about Erik to her even before the two had started dating, it wasn't until now that she understood why. 

Stepping into Erik's flat was initially disorienting; she thought she had accidentally gone to Charles's instead. There were journal articles stacked at one corner of the table, and books perching dangerously on various surfaces. Charles navigated around everything with an ease born of familiarity, and Erik loomed quietly, a tall presence gravitating around the force that was Charles, occasionally brushing an elbow or hand. Hank had called Charles on a supposedly vital issue that required his immediate attention, and he had left for the laboratory, leaving them in awkward silence. 

"I'm glad. You've been good for Charles." 

He shrugged a noncommittal thanks. 

"He was so lonely before he met you." 

This caught his attention and she found herself pinned under an intense gaze that was at once terrifying and attractive. No wonder Charles had noticed him at the bus stop. 

"What are you saying? From what I've seen, Charles is very popular," he asked. 

"It seems so, doesn't it? He has trouble trusting people and letting them in. Until you came along, I was the only person close to him." 

"He did tell me about his complex family history."

She nodded and took another sip of tea, looking wistfully at Erik's coffee. "Charles is the guy who is rarely alone, but frequently lonely. So, for that, thank you." 

"Hasn't he been in other relationships before?" 

Thinking of Charles's colourful past, Moira paused for a moment before replying. "Depends on the definition of relationships. If we're going to talk about this, I want a cup of coffee." 

=

The answer to his question came to Erik when he listened to Moira. He was the first person to have a proper romantic relationship with Charles, and from what he could tell, also the first he really cared for. 

It was a thought both pleasing and sobering. 

Moira was glancing at him fiercely over the edge of her mug, and he felt a new respect for her, born of her obvious concern for Charles. 

"You understand better now what this means to him, right?"

He thought of the boxes of tea (it was unbelievable how many varieties existed) hiding his coffee, the lumpy cardigans in his wardrobe, and the sleepy smile along with a mumbled 'morning' beside him. 

"I will love him for the rest of my life." 

She smiled at that, but her eyes were sad. "And he will love you for the rest of his. For better or for worse, the jury's still out."

Erik remembered letters from the clinic, unopened and squashed beneath books and academic journals. Two weeks, and he loved Charles as he never loved anyone else, not even Magda, who had left in the last months of his mother's illness.

"Take care of him, please," he said. ‘After I'm gone’ went unspoken. 

"I try my best, but you know how stubborn Charles can be," she replied, mouth quirking into a wry smile. 

He knew very well indeed, and they shared a look of mutual exasperation. Emma should meet Moira someday, if only for the inevitable confrontation. Then again, they might bond over frustrating friends. That prospect was definitely scarier. 

=

Laughter greeted Charles when he opened the front door, and he paused in mid-step. He could hear Moira and Erik, voices slightly muffled, which meant they were in the kitchen, but laughter? Even he had been slightly unnerved by the tension between the two when he first introduced them. Closing the door behind him and placing his coat on the side table, he went to check that it was indeed his boyfriend and best friend he had heard. 

"- Professor Sixsmith walked into the room, and the look on his face!” 

Erik laughed at that, an unguarded sound that made him stop in the doorway to watch the two people closest to him. While Charles had teased his boyfriend about having too many teeth (all the better to bite me with?) for comfort, they weren’t always intimidating; not when his eyes were creased just so at the edges, and his face unburdened by the usual slight sorrow.

“Hi Charles!” Moira noticed his presence and waved at him cheerily. 

Curiouser and curiouser, he thought in amusement. Erik and Moira were getting along. 

“Welcome home,” said Erik, who had stood up and pulled Charles closer for a chaste kiss. 

Charles looked at him in surprise - while Erik was often affectionate towards him, it was always when they were alone. Erik was now smiling at him with unreserved love that left his stomach twisting a little. The arm around his waist was warm, and he flushed, wondering if he should remove his scarf because clearly the kitchen was well-heated. 

“Moira was just telling me about your run-in with Sixsmith,” he chuckled. 

Oh. He glared at Moira, who was grinning at him mischievously. Really, it wasn’t his fault that the Nobel Laureate had walked in at the end of his tirade, which was more of a well-crafted refutation of very misguided notions on the effects of radiation on cellular constituents. He suspected that no one had ever called him an ‘old paranoid buffoon’ to his face; privately, he still thought Sixsmith, a nuclear physics expert, should leave the genetics to the geneticists. 

“Thank you Moira,” he said pointedly. “It’s getting rather late, don’t you think?” 

“Can’t intrude too much into your domestic bliss,” she teased, placing her cup by the sink. “I do have some administrative matters to settle anyway. The perks of being dean.” 

“Hank keeps telling me how much he looks forward to the start of term,” he added. They both paused for a moment to appreciate the gifted and hardworking student. 

“All right, we’ll be seeing you in three weeks? The break passes so quickly.” She bade them farewell, and hugged Charles. 

_Too quickly_ , he thought, and held his best friend for just that bit longer. 

= 

For the second time in the same number of weeks, Erik found himself being hugged by someone other than Charles. While he was comfortable with Charles, who was a very tactile person, he was still getting used to receiving it from others. He brewed tea while the two friends walked to the bus stop. 

Just the way he likes his tea, Moira had said. 

“I love you.” 

Erik looked up. Charles was standing in the doorway, face pink from the cold, scarf wrapped haphazardly around his neck. He was wearing yet another of his faded oversized cardigans that fell below his wrists, and looking at him with an open honesty that made him look much younger than his actual age. 

He was lovely. He was his. 

They had two weeks. 

=

Charles could smell the tea (ginger, warming for colder seasons) from the doorway and hung his coat up on the pegs. Erik preferred things to go where they belonged, and while he didn’t insist on Charles doing the same, he knew it bothered him a little. Living with another person after staying alone for so long was challenging, that he couldn’t deny, but he wouldn’t change anything. Anything was an improvement from the cramped university lodgings he was provided with. 

Well, there was one thing he would change. 

Erik’s face was difficult to read, but after two weeks, he could recognize the little signs: the tic in his jaw, the upward twitch of lips, and the softening of gray eyes. 

Eyes that had darkened. His breath hitched as Erik approached him. Heart racing. Too stuffy, they should turn down the heating. 

“Thanks for the tea,” he whispered. “And for today.” And yesterday, and every day since they met, he added silently. He could smell the coffee on Erik’s breath, pick out the specks of gray peppering his hair, and trace every line on his face. 

“Thank you for everything,” replied Erik, words hot against his skin. “For you.” 

Erik kissed him hard, hands slipping under cardigan and shirt to caress soft belly. Charles sighed, pleased at his boyfriend’s initiative. He canted his hips forward, and pulled him closer, stroking the muscled back with appreciation and want. They rocked against each other with insistent speed, and he gasped in surprise when he was hoisted off his feet, Erik gripping his thighs. 

“Erik?” 

“Trust me, Charles.”

“Of course - oh.” His eyes shut in pleasure when Erik thrust forward at that, pressing him into the wall. He held on tightly as Erik moved on to nipping and sucking at his neck. The fervour was new, but he wasn’t complaining. He felt the hard ridge of the counter - they must have moved - and Erik was setting him down to pull off his clothes. He shivered at the first brush of cooler air, but a warm body was soon covering his, Erik having removed his own turtleneck. The feel of bare skin pressing against him shot straight to his spine and into his groin. 

“Want - “ he panted, wrapping his legs around Erik’s waist to bring them closer. Too many clothes, he thought, dropping his hands to trousers’s hem. 

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Erik murmured into his ear. 

Charles hissed in frustration as his fingers fumbled with the button. Erik didn’t help, rubbing circles in his lower back and nosing around his ear. He undid the button with a small ‘hah’ of triumph that was swallowed by Erik kissing him again. More, he begged, bracing himself on the edge and pressing the hard bulges of their cocks together. 

“Bed.” 

= 

Charles protested halfheartedly when he was carried bridal style to the bedroom, but turned to distracting Erik instead by trying to unzip his trousers. Each brush against his groin made him shudder, and he gritted his teeth as he focused on not dropping the tease in his arms. 

“Really, Erik, I have legs,” said Charles, pouting at him with swollen lips. I did that, he thought with pride and no small amount of arousal. “Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” 

Erik thought of watching Charles jerk himself off, pale skin gleaming with sweat, eyes half lidded. Not a bad suggestion. 

“I suppose I’ll just have to take care of myself then,” sighed Charles, throwing his head back dramatically. He made a show of pulling off his slacks with as much squirming as possible, and Erik’s cock throbbed in its trappings at the sight before him. 

“Are you suggesting I don’t take good care of you?” he growled, pinning Charles’s arms above his head and dropping to his knees. He leaned forward and licked the swollen shaft, causing Charles to moan and buck up involuntarily. He pulled back and smirked.

“Nothing - of - that - sort,” replied Charles, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Always room for improvement.” 

Keeping his hold, Erik half rose and worked off his trousers, biting back a groan when his own pants came off. Charles was now looking at him with undisguised hunger and he fell forward when a leg wrapped behind his knee and pulled. Both moaned at the feel of their erections rubbing against the other. Charles, mindful of his pinioned arms, brought both legs up around Erik’s waist and rocked insistently, setting a pace that was maddening. Not like this, he thought, and stilled his hips, eliciting a frustrated cry from under him. He licked his lips, and stared down into feverish eyes, pupils blown wide.  
Charles trusted him. 

“Charles” He took a breath. “I want you to take me.” 

He trusted him. 

=

The sudden loss of friction had thrown him off, but it was Erik’s request that caught him by surprise. Charles had had sex with both men and women in a variety of positions and under varying circumstances. He had been both top and bottom, and a few others in between, but this: Erik looking at him with painful sincerity, trusting himself to him. He understood what it meant because this was Erik, who had been more or less celibate for three years, and probably never been bottom before. 

He didn’t think it was possible but he loved him more than ever at that moment. 

Nodding, he pulled his arms out from under Erik’s slackened grip and held his face, fingers running gently over the perspiring brow, down over the nose, tracing the parted lips and gasping when Erik drew his fingers into his mouth and sucked. He watched in fascination for a bit before he withdrew and tugged Erik onto the bed. For the first time, his lover’s pleasure mattered more to him than his own. 

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable,” he murmured, taking the lube and condoms from the side table. He sat up and pushed Erik down onto his back. Slicking up his hand, he stroked the muscular thighs that were trembling minutely. “Just relax for me, love.” 

Erik nodded and spread his legs. My good little virgin, he marvelled. Charles caressed his cock, pumping with a languid speed as he rolled his balls in the other hand. Erik sighed, watching him with half-lidded eyes. When he felt the slight rolling of hips, he dropped his hand and traced the outside of Erik’s hole. He clenched up immediately, but Charles persisted. Alternating between circling and stroking the rim, he brought his lips to kiss the leaking head. 

“Charles - “ There was just that bit of desperation in Erik’s voice and Charles looked at him, a last confirmation, before slipping one finger in. 

“That’s it, love,” he said, moving both finger and hand. After Erik looked less pained, he added another finger, scissoring slightly. His own erection throbbed in complaint, but he was only concerned about the task at hand. He added in a third - Erik was getting used to the sensation - and this time when he curled a knuckle, was rewarded by a gasp and almost violent jerk of hips. “It’s good, isn’t it?” 

His fingers searched again, and his patience paid off when Erik stuttered a groan, pushing down onto his hand. Charles continued to fuck Erik with his hand until he finally begged him to stop and just fuck him already.

“No,” replied Charles, stopping to pull on a condom. Erik looked at him in disbelief, face flushed. “It’s your first time so I will make love to you.” 

He paused, hooking Erik’s leg up on one elbow, head pressing against Erik’s slicked up hole. “Then, I will fuck you till either you or this bed breaks.” 

Too long, he thought, fighting the urge to just thrust all the way in and bottom out. He bit his lower lip and pushed slowly, dragging out delicious keening noises from Erik with each forward inch. Halfway in, he pulled out and rocked back in, deeper. Erik tensed slightly at that, and he resumed jerking him off. He had forgotten how good it felt, and went in too much too fast, except Erik cried out with more pleasure than pain and tilted his hips up to meet him. The next time that happened he decided to fuck it and just give in, setting a pace that was well-matched. Erik had wrapped his other leg around Charles’s waist and was arching off the bed with each thrust. For a virgin, he was doing well.

Too well; Charles slowed down his thrusting while speeding up his hand, and twisted his wrist just so, the way he knew Erik liked. He was whimpering now, little broken gasps, and his hand unclenched from the sheets to grasp at Charles. 

“Harder,” he panted, drawing his leg and Charles towards him. “Please.” 

Since he asked so nicely... Charles gave himself to the tight heat, the strong leg around his waist, the repeated whisper of Charles, Charles, Charles, like a hymn, and then Erik was coming, thick white spurts that spilled over his hands and he shuddered apart at the spasming of muscles around his cock. 

They lay together, sweat and come cooling between them. He didn’t remember it being this intense - his vision had whited out - but, then again, he didn’t remember ever feeling anything he felt around Erik. He winced slightly as he pulled out, and rested his head against Erik’s chest, feeling the heart pounding under his ear. 

“I love you,” whispered Erik into his hair, shifting them into a more comfortable position. 

Charles stuck his nose into the hollow of his throat and inhaled the musky scent of sweat and sex and Erik. _I know, I know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "I will love him for the rest of my life" and "He will love you for the rest of his" idea comes from a Sherlock gif set I saw on tumblr. 
> 
> Professor Sixsmith is an actual book character in Cloud Atlas. He's a Nobel Prize winning nuclear physicist in it. 
> 
> Lastly, I am aware that it may be quite insulting that Charles thinks of Erik as a 'virgin' simply because it is first time being bottom. My beta has pointed that out, and I chose to do so anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the second panel of Pala's art, and in which Erik grieves Charles. The plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually almost omitted this scene as I forgot that Pala's art came in two panels. So I was frowning at my work wondering why it seemed it bit.. wrong. I went back to check and was utterly gobsmacked at my forgetfulness, and rectified it. 
> 
> The scene based on that panel turned out to be my favourite part.

Tucking the ends of the scarf more securely around Erik's neck, Charles frowned and asked once more if he was sure it was a good idea to take a stroll in the park at this time of the year, especially with his cold. 

"It's just a bit of a cough," replied Erik, kissing the end of Charles's nose.

The park was bereft of its usual noises and people, the cold muting life. Charles shivered, and drew closer to his boyfriend. Their breaths hung before them with each exhalation, and he worried about the sufficiency of the coat and scarf for keeping Erik warm. 

"It's so quiet," said Charles, tilting his head to look at the drooping branches. "A nice change, though."

"Listen," whispered Erik, who had stopped, tugging his hand gently.

They stood in the middle of the empty path. He heard their soft breathing, and the stirring of a small creature late to its hibernation. Then he heard it: a faint but clear trilling of a stubborn bird. 

"Come on." Erik squeezed his hand once, taking off without warning. Charles looked at him in surprise, legs moving to catch up before his mind did. 

They ran, laughter filling the park, reds and oranges blurring into a fiery stream overhead. Leaves crunched underfoot, diving wildly out of their path. 

They ran, and the lone bird continued to sing. 

They ran, and Erik doubled back suddenly, tackling Charles into a heap of leaves. The two men grappled, scarves unravelling and limbs tangling. Finally, they rolled to a stop. 

"You're so slow," murmured Erik, brushing leaves out of tousled brown curls. 

"Someone had an unfair headstart," retorted Charles, jabbing his elbow into Erik's side. 

Erik chuckled and pulled him down for a kiss, tongue lazily exploring his mouth. Charles's breath was taken away again, and he slipped his leg between Erik's own. He moaned softly when his lower lip was nipped, and pulled back with reluctance. 

"Unfortunately, we are in the open.” 

"Aren't we modest.” Erik smirked, but snuggled Charles into his arms. 

A leaf drifted down, and the bird trilled plaintively once more before falling silent. Erik's arm tightened around his waist, and he felt his hand stroking his hair. They were alone in the park, and the only sounds now were their hearts beating in tandem.

"You're not alone." His voiced thought surprised him as it did Erik, who gave him an unreadable look before kissing him on the forehead. He sighed at the oddly tender gesture. 

“No, we’re not.”

= 

As week three drew to an end, Erik was not surprised at his catching of a cold. He hadn’t felt any different after the initial diagnosis, but was keenly aware of the deception of remission. Hadn’t his mother improved in the few days before she died? Edie had insisted on being pushed out to the hospital garden, and they had sat under the sun together, like when he was young. He remembered her laugh, weak as it was, and the pride and love shining in her eyes. Then, just as quickly as she had recovered, she was gone. 

Edie Lehnsherr hadn’t died alone, and amazingly, neither would he. The implications of that caught up with him, and his steps faltered. 

“And so they are,” he murmured, placing his forehead on Charles’s shoulder. “Alas, that they are so, to die, even when they to perfection grow.” 

“Erik?” Charles’s voice was filled with concern, and again, that damning love. 

“Just stay like this.” Erik breathed in the scent of his hair, wishing he could draw the whole of Charles into himself. See what you’ve done to me, he would say, see how I will always belong to you as you will always belong to me. 

“Charles, remember what I said when I first asked you to date me?” 

“Something like ‘I’m going to die soon, so could we have a date’,” replied Charles, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on Erik’s hand. 

He had asked for a date, and received so much more. Now he understood why death was so widely feared; it wasn’t about them, it was about those they loved and were loved by. He said as much, and they stood there, each supporting the other.

“Dying never meant anything to me,” Erik said after a while. “But once I have you -” 

His heart contracted painfully, as if a hand had reached inside his chest and clenched hard. His breath hitched, and tears were running down his face, all the loneliness and grief of the past three years unleashing in one swift torrent. 

Erik couldn’t see Charles face, but the thumb had stopped moving, and he had gone very still. 

“I don’t want to die.” 

= 

“Erik?”

“Hmm?”

“I come from a rich family.” 

“... Yes?” 

“I mean, it’s a bit complicated, what with my stepfather, stepbrother, adopted sister, and recently found twin, but - “ 

“You’re rambling, Charles. What is it?” 

“You don’t have to worry about money.” 

Beat. 

“I don’t.” 

“No, no. I mean, nothing is ever really certain in the medical community, you know? There’s always some new therapy -”

“Charles...” 

“ - and Moira knows quite a few oncologists, top of the field, taught some of them herself - “

“Charles.” 

A pause. Long exhalation.

“I don’t want you to die either.” 

“I know, beloved. My mother faded away slowly, all the tubes and needles sucking the life out of her over months. When she died...”

Rustle of cloth. Clearing of throat. 

“When she died, I was thankful because she wasn’t suffering anymore. Do you understand?” 

“Yes.” 

Door closes. 

=

Seven a.m on a Thursday morning. A month ago, Erik would be awake and in the shower, preparing for work. A month ago, he had more than a month to live. A month later, he awoke with a warm presence in his arms. 

“Morning,” mumbled Charles, lips barely moving against his collarbone. “What time is it?” 

Erik hushed him, kissing his brow, his nose, his hair. Charles hummed in approval and hugged him tighter, yawning in the process.

“Still early,” replied Erik. “Go back to sleep.” 

“Mm.” 

In the past weeks, he learnt that Charles was not a morning person by nature; if he had a choice, he would not wake before eight. Besides, as Charles had said, there was a good reason to stay in bed. Erik didn’t mind; it gave him ample opportunity to observe his beloved (not that he hadn’t already memorized his features through the years, but that was from a distance).

Just yesterday, he had closed his eyes while slowly caressing Charles’s face, imprinting his image onto his palms. Charles had held still, and he had been startled to feel tears falling on his fingers. Worried, he tried to open his eyes then, but Charles had placed a hand over his eyes, and assured him that he was fine and wanted him to continue what he was doing. So he did, tracing each contour, tracking each line, brushing over slightly chapped lips. 

After Charles had removed his hand, Erik kept his eyes closed for a few more moments, savouring all the sensations he had felt. When he opened them again, he was struck breathless by what he saw: Charles looking at him, eyes glistening with tears, a tremulous smile on his face. Sunlight poured through the window, illuminating him from behind and lending him a soft glow that was unworldly. My angel, he had thought. My beloved, he had murmured, kissing each tear. They had lain there for hours, on the stark white of the sheets. He saw how his body curled towards him, and he knew that he was his. For better or for worse, Moira had said. 

Erik stroked Charles’s cheek with one finger, remembering the feel of that face under his hands. His sleeping partner shifted, but did not awake. Pressing a last lingering kiss onto his bared shoulder, he left the bed, careful to tuck the duvet warmly around Charles.

He didn’t look back. 

=

Charles stretched, snuggling into his cocoon of warmth. He reached out a hand - the other side of the bed was empty. No surprise; Erik was an early riser, and also a surprisingly good cook. His boyfriend was probably preparing breakfast. He smiled at that, remembering the first time he had wandered out to the kitchen in a mild state of panic at waking up alone. They had pancakes that morning, fluffy stacks dripping with maple syrup. 

Pulling on a cardigan, Charles tidied the bed and walked out of the bedroom into an empty flat. No smells of food, no grinding of the coffee machine, and most importantly, no Erik. He frowned and checked the study, where Erik (and he, now) kept his books. The toilet in the hallway offered up no one either. It was unlike Erik to just leave him without having said anything, and Charles dialled his number with increasing anxiety. 

It rang, once, twice, as did the familiar handphone vibrating beside a folded note on the coffee table. 

_My life_ , thought Charles with sinking despair, _is like a bad romantic comedy, except without the happy endings._

His name was written on the front of the note in his boyfriend’s neat hand. He opened it. 

_Dear Charles,_

_I have left the deed to this flat in your name. The documents are with my solicitor. It’s a reminder of the time we had together, the memories we shared. I asked you for a date; you gave me that, and so much more. You gave me a reason to live._

_I love you, beloved, and I want you to be happy._

_Yours, past, present, always,_

_Erik_

“You selfish man,” whispered Charles, creasing and smoothing the edges of the paper in his hand. 

Books, journals, and papers tumbled off the table when he slammed his fists onto the table in his agitation. He ignored the mess - Erik would look at it disapprovingly, but that didn’t matter now, did it? Envelopes, all stamped with the letterhead of the local hospital, were freed from where they had been previously hidden under the now scattered pile.

Charles picked one up: it was addressed to Mr Erik Lehnsherr, and unopened. He picked another, and yet another. All unopened, all addressed to his boyfriend. Curiosity edged in, fed by anger. He tore one open. He briefly scanned the letter, then doubled back, reading it thoroughly with eyes that had teared up. 

“Erik,” he whispered. “You idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: Quote from Twelfth Night, Shakespeare - And so they are, alas, that they are so, to die, even when they to perfection grow. 
> 
> 2: Idea of breathing in the beloved's hair is from Vita Brevis, Jostein Gaarder.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything comes to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbelievably, it is done. I cannot thank my beta enough, as well as the lovely people at the chat who have kept me company throughout these weeks. 
> 
> Specifically to [pala](http://archiveofourown.org/users/palalife/pseuds/palalife), I hope this does your art some justice.

Hannelore was thinking about the different ratios of milk to foam to espresso and how they distinguished one coffee from another, and hence, she could be pardoned for not noticing when the door to Coffee of Doom slammed open, glass rattling ominously in its frame. She had moved on to thinking about optimal temperatures and water purity when someone shook her by the shoulder. 

“Hanners! Earth to Hanners!” Charles was all but shouting in her face, and she leaped back in fright. 

“Charles?” she stuttered, feeling the edges of a panic attack coming on. 

“Breathe, one, two,” he said, removing his hand and thumping the counter with a slow beat. “One, two. That’s it.” 

Breathing as instructed, she was relieved to feel her head clear. For the first time, she noticed his dishevelled state. While the young professor would sometimes forget to eat and sleep when he was caught up in work, he was fastidious about personal hygiene and always appeared presentable. Now... his hair was sticking up all over the place, his face was flushed, and she was certain that his coat was buttoned wrong. If she could count on anyone to always match each button to its hole, it would be Charles. Processing the information, she came to one conclusion. 

“Have you seen Erik?” he asked after a while. 

“Oh, yes,” she replied. Charles’s eyes widened slightly at that. “He ran by this morning, said something about having to settle some business. I think Faye left with him.” 

“Do you know where they went?” He had pulled out his phone, and was scrolling down it with a rare haste. 

“They didn’t say.” Hannelore was starting to pick up some of Charles’s anxiety, and clasped her hands together. “Is anything wrong?” 

Charles was already halfway out the door with his phone pressed to his ear. 

“Thanks, and you have no idea,” he yelled back, before the door slammed for the second time that day. 

=

Erik sat on the edge of the building, paper bag beside him. He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, feeling his lungs work. Feeling unusually energetic that morning, he had headed out for a short run, intending to pick up breakfast from the cafe for the both of them. He had been thinking about the note - Charles was likely to be furious - and was surprised when Faye declared she would take a short walk with him around the mostly empty campus. 

It was oddly pleasant. They hadn’t spoken much other than to comment on the welcome silence due to school break, and she had left after they reached the science faculty. The buildings at the university were all rather low-lying, but he noticed a tall, modern looking block. _There would be a nice view of the city from there_ , he thought. 

The city lay spread out before him, sunlight pooling over its numerous steel and glass surfaces, broken intermittently by a brick building or two. People went about their lives, scurrying from place to place. Not so long ago, he had been one of them. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of a city breathing around him. 

“Erik Lehnsherr!” a familiar voice shouted from behind, and only his grip on the edge prevented him from toppling over in surprise. “What do you think you are doing?” 

=

Charles didn’t manage to contact or find Faye, but it didn’t matter because the person sitting at the top of the recently constructed science faculty tower was very noticeable indeed. He had cursed out loud at the stoppage of elevator service during the holidays, and made a mental note to raise lax security as an issue during the next faculty meeting. After he had conquered these stairs, that was. Then, he had thrown the door open, and his thoughts out along with it. 

His Erik, clad in that ridiculous gray sweatsuit (ridiculous because no one should be able to look good wearing that shapeless thing), was really sitting on the edge of the eight storied building, leaning sightly forward. 

“Erik Lehnsherr! What do you think you are doing?” he yelled, running forward and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. He pulled them both backwards, not thinking of how bad an idea that was until his back hit a hard concrete floor and his breath was squashed out of him by the heavy weight on his chest. “Oof.” 

There was a flustered scrabbling of limbs, and he was hauled up into a half-recline, back flush against Erik’s front. 

“Charles?” Erik ran his hand searchingly through Charles’s hair. “What are you doing?” 

“I should ask you that instead,” he retorted, ignoring the pain shooting down his back and turning around to hold Erik’s face in his hands. “You selfish prat, did you just think you were going to leave me behind like that?” 

Erik gaped at him. “I - what?” 

Waving aside his confusion, Charles plunged on. “Oh, I shouldn’t let Charles be at my side when I die, because that will be too selfish. I’ll leave him my flat too, because that is a great idea. Honestly, did it not occur to you that I’m the selfish one who wanted to be the last thing you saw?” 

His breath ran out shortly, a combination of the mad dash from flat to cafe and up stairs, and that nearly suicidal backward manoeuvre. Charles briefly wondered who was the one with a clear head between the both of them. Erik was now looking at him keenly, and after a long drawn silence, finally spoke. 

“Did you think I was going to jump?” 

“You left me that note, walked out without your phone, and were sitting at the edge of the tallest building in this part of town. What else was I supposed to think?” Now that his breath had returned and his heart had stopped trying to burst out of his ribcage, Charles felt doubt creep in. Hadn’t Erik been gripping the edge from the inside? There had also been a brown paper bag sitting beside him - now that he thought about it, it looked extremely familiar. 

Erik continued to stare blankly at him for a while longer before he suddenly chuckled, and pulled him into a hug. 

“Charles,” he murmured. “I would never do that, beloved, especially not to you.” 

“Oh.” Charles flushed in both embarrassment and awareness of their proximity. 

“I felt like running today, so I headed out to get you breakfast along the way.” Erik gestured toward the paper bag, which indeed had the Coffee of Doom logo stamped on it. “Faye walked with me for a bit, and I thought the view from up here would be nice.” 

It was ridiculous - he was a perfectly intelligent and rational man, except when it came to Erik, but his boyfriend had proved to be exceptional in many ways. 

“Right, thank you,” said Charles, before he remembered they were sitting on top of a science faculty building. “How did you get up here?” 

“How did you get up here?” Erik grinned at him, his hands combing through unruly curls in an attempt to tame them.

Security was definitely on the agenda for the next meeting. 

“Anyway,” he said, recalling the reason why they were there. “You’re not allowed to die before me.” 

The hand in his hair stilled, and Erik’s face turned serious, eyes looking searchingly at him. Charles fished out the crumpled letter from his coat pocket. 

“If I wasn’t so busy being happy, I would hit you for ignoring correspondence from your doctor,” he chided, handing it over to his boyfriend. 

Erik looked through the letter. His hand started to tremble halfway through it, and Charles held it with his own. The knuckles holding the paper turned white, and the letter crinkled further. 

“Is this...?” Erik’s voice was unsteady, eyes shining with hope and tears. 

“Let’s get you checked out.” He pulled Erik in, kissing him hard. He remembered the sheer terror that had filled him when he looked up and recognized the person perched at the edge of the building. He remembered their languid afternoons, their heated nights (and mornings), their snuggling on the couch. He remembered Erik stroking his face with his hands, eyes closed, fingers brushing tenderly over his brows, eyes, lips. Erik’s tongue against his now. They pulled apart, breathing heavily, lips touching.

“Then - ” Charles smiled. “You owe me a lifetime.” 

= 

The cold air was a welcome burn in his lungs, and Erik stopped by the benches. He looked around at the trees, their bare branches stark against the cloudless sky. After a while, he spotted a familiar shape following his trail. Charles, panting slightly, caught up with him, cheeks flushed with exertion and cold. 

“You’re getting faster,” remarked Erik, running an appreciative look down his fiance’s body. 

“Only because you push me so hard,” replied Charles, pouting. 

“I prefer to think I offer incentives,” he said, slipping his arms around Charles’s waist and tugging him closer. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“A demonstration would be useful,” murmured Charles, lips fluttering along Erik’s jaw. Erik closed his eyes, and wished they were somewhere warmer and less public. “A private demonstration.” 

“Later,” he promised, pressing a quick kiss to that tempting mouth. 

“Later as in before the meeting, or after?” Charles laughed, interlacing their fingers as they walked back towards their flat. 

Erik briefly but seriously contemplated the possibility of leaving everything to Azazel - his friend was more than competent - but decided against it. Cerebro Engineering was a new player. While Emma and Azazel, well-known names in the space engineering industry, had joined his firm as promised, his presence (visible presence, Erik, as Charles and Emma liked to remind him) was vital. Further, it would be a good opportunity to assess his new employees - he shook his head in amusement as he thought of them. Katherine Pryde, newly graduated, but already impressing both Azazel and him with her creativity and genius. And there was Forge - an old name, long thought retired, who had somehow been brought in by Emma. Even Hannelore, surprisingly, agreed to be an external consultant. (Charles played a rather significant role in this) 

“After,” he replied, earning another kiss from Charles. 

A slight breeze stirred a green leaf from where it dangled at the end of a branch just over the end of the path. A lone bird flashed across the sky, a streak of red, singing. They walked out of the park, their shadows blending into one behind them.


End file.
